


No Turning Back

by popfly



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-06
Updated: 2004-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popfly/pseuds/popfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gapfiller for season one, episode eighteen. Justin gets inspired by a denim jacket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Turning Back

The brisk night air hit me hard as I stepped outside Babylon, making me pull my jacket tighter around me and wish I had grabbed the fucking hat from Debbie's outstretched hands as I'd shoved out the door instead of scoffing and scowling. I could hear Brian behind me, zipping his coat, lighting a cigarette, coughing a little.

"Fucking freezing," he said, coming up next to me, his arm bumping mine. They were the first words he'd said to me since his speech at the bar. All through a dance and a blowjob in the backroom he'd been silent - save for a moan or a gasp while I was going down on him of course - and his voice now sort of startled me.

"Yeah." I stuffed my hands deeper into my pockets and hunched my shoulders up around my ears. "Mind taking me back to Deb's?"

He shrugged, his eyebrows rising, and hitched his head a little before starting off down the sidewalk. I had to really stretch my legs to keep up with his long strides, and I bounced on my toes while he got into the driver's seat of the Jeep. It really was fucking freezing. I'd been outside for all of five minutes and I couldn't feel my fucking ears.

Brian leaned over and popped the lock on my door and I yanked it open, hopping into the seat and pulling the door shut behind me. Brian started the Jeep and turned the heat on full blast, and I held my hands in front of the vents. We sat in silence for a moment, letting the frost melt from the windows.

I chewed my lips and watched Liberty Avenue come into focus through the jagged semi-circles the defroster cleared. Brian had said a lot of stuff earlier that I needed to think about, but his last sentence before he pulled me out into the mass of bodies and the swirl of glitter had hit me like a Mack truck, and I could still feel the words like a rock in my stomach. A hard heaviness that was weighing me down.

"Brian," I started, not turning my head, keeping my eyes on the street, flexing my thawing fingers in the warmth of the Jeep. I thought of what I wanted to say next but nothing came to mind. I could feel his eyes on the side of my face, boring holes in my skin, trying to see into my head.

"Justin," he prompted, and I could hear the real concern almost buried under his layers of sarcasm and mock-indifference.

I dropped my hands into my lap and sighed. "The windows are clear."

He snorted softly and shifted into drive, pulling away from the curb. I sighed again. No turning back.

I stayed still all the way to Deb's, fighting back a panicky kind of feeling, holding the dread down, telling myself that what I'd said earlier was true, Brian didn't know anything, I was doing the right thing, I was doing the right thing. I didn't even notice we were idling in front of the house until Brian cleared his throat. I cut my eyes to his and he looked pointedly down at my lap. I raised my eyebrows slightly, but then noticed what he was staring at.

My hands were balled in tight fists on my thighs, my knuckles turning white. I relaxed my fingers, splaying them on my jeans, looking back up at him.

He pulled a corner of his mouth up into his cheek and blinked at me. "Uh, we're here."

"Yeah." I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the door handle, turning it but not shouldering the door open. "Thanks, Brian. For, you know ... " I trailed off and gave a laugh, rolling my eyes. "For the ride, I guess."

Brian nodded, and he almost looked sympathetic. I waited for the mask to slide back into place but it didn't. Instead he smiled, softly - the kind of smile that looked totally out of place on him - and tapped his gloved fingers on the steering wheel. "No problem."

I pushed the door open and swung my feet out onto the curb, straightening and then turning to duck my head back into the Jeep. "Brian? If you were me you'd say fuck Dartmouth, wouldn't you?"

His eyes widened and he stared at me a moment. "Doesn't matter, does it Sunshine? 'Cause I'm not you."

I looked down at the ground. I had expected him to say as much. 

"Later."

I looked up just long enough to mumble "later" back before slamming the door and turning away.

*****

After I'd showered away the smoke-'n'-sex smell that was Babylon I pulled on a clean pair of boxers and a washed-soft tee shirt and pulled back the covers on the bed. I laid there for who knows how long, staring at the ceiling and the fuck-ugly motorcycles on Mikey's walls, my eyes purposely not landing on any of the sketches I had hung randomly around the room.

Everything that everyone had said made total sense, I knew that much. I did have a gift, and it was a shame to waste it, and maybe I hadn't really broken up my parent's marriage. In my head it sounded right.

But I couldn't help thinking that maybe I had. And if I had, then I couldn't do anything else to disappoint either one of them.

I shoved the blankets away and booted up the computer. I opened the word processor and started to type. "Dartmouth College," I started, the keyboard clacking. "Office of Admissions" I typed out the letter saying that I would be attending their college next year as a freshman. I finished it up and printed it out, repeating to myself that I was doing the right thing, the good thing, pushing all thoughts of Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts into the back of my head.

I pulled the letter from the printer and swiveled in my chair, propping a foot on the cushion of the orange bench that sat next to the desk. I re-read the brief sentence and ignored the clench in my chest. I was doing the right thing, the good thing.

I twisted a little, side to side, and looked up from the black letters on the paper. My eyes skimmed over to the back of the door, where my old denim jacket was hanging. Something about the folds of the fabric as it hung against the painted white door and the streetlight filtering in through the window and I felt a familiar itch in my fingers.

I tapped the letter against my nose, the shadows of the jacket replacing the words I'd just typed in my head, and the itch moved from my fingers all the way up my arms, making me feel tingly and restless. It was a feeling I was constantly having, and I knew at that moment that it would never stop. If I could be inspired by a denim jacket of all things ...

I made the decision right then. Fuck Dartmouth.

I slid a binder off of my desk and flipped the letter over, then reached for a pencil.

While I sketched I could feel my shoulders relaxing, feel the rock in my stomach that was Brian's lecture from Babylon disappearing. I felt the euphoric, giddy thing that I always felt when I was drawing, and I knew that now I really was doing the right thing.

No turning back.


End file.
